Patient Love
by KJ-MonkeyJunkie3
Summary: Gendry is on his own. But when it's quiet, when he lets his mind wander, she appears. And those are the best and the worst moments that he has, because she was the best and the worst of his life. Something to cling to and something to curse. Happiness and anger. Pain and relief. Everything. He just wants her back.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Oops, I did it again. I wrote an entirely new story instead of working on the one I already have going. To be fair, I did write more on my LOTR story, I just wasn't entirely happy with it, and I want to work it over a bit before I post it. Apologies to those who are following it.

This was a thing that popped into my head as I was listening to this song by Passenger, and I couldn't write anything else until I'd got this down. I've been tweaking it over the past week, and I'm pretty happy with it finally, so I thought I'd throw it up here and see what y'all think. It's sort of an amalgamation of the show and the books - but I have no idea what they're going to do with Gendry now (hopefully bring him sort of back around to the books enough for him to meet Brienne and such), so the first chapter is mostly from the show, and then the second chapter is kinda what happened to him in the books - I mean, he's not going back to the Brotherhood, that's for dang sure, but what's to say he couldn't still end up at the Inn at the Crossroads somehow? In any case, I just wanted to get into his head a bit, and see if I could sort of play around with that.

I'd love to know what you all think, so please leave reviews - I love feedback! And, as always, I hope you all enjoy =)

* * *

It's an unspoken heartbreak  
A heartbroken handshake I'll take with me where I go...

-Passenger

* * *

The oars dipped into the water, propelling him forward. Gendry had strong arms, always had, but what seemed like an eternity of rowing was turning them to rock-solid muscle. His shoulders and back had long since stopped aching from the constant strain on them, but he knew that if he stopped, he wouldn't be able to start again. So he dipped the oars in again, propelling the small boat forward another few meters.

_Lommy and Hot Pie can't know. No one can know. _

Gendry's gaze snapped to the opposite end of the boat, where he'd heard her voice. He shook his head. "It can't be her. She's far away." _My name's not Arry. It's Arya. Of House Stark. _"Far, far away from me." _Do NOT call me m'lady! _"You're going mad, you are, you stupid bastard," Gendry chided himself.

The oars dipped into the water, propelling him forward. Sometimes he talked, to keep his sanity. Sometimes he'd talk to himself. Sometimes to her. Rehashing old arguments, starting new ones. Sometimes thanking her for bringing him out of Harrenhal, sometimes cursing her. Once, he'd even reimagined their last conversation, tried to imagine letting her be his family, staying with her, but that had been painful and he hadn't allowed himself to dwell on it for long.

He couldn't imagine her missing him like this. If there was one thing he absolutely knew about Arya of House Stark, it was that she was one who would always keep moving forward, keep going, no matter what.

He wasn't like that. He'd never learned to do anything but survive. He could follow, go where he was told, but never in his life had he initiated forward movement. Others had always done that for him. Tobho Mott had sold him to the Night's Watch, and Arry the orphan boy had run away, brought him along. The Mountain that Rides had taken him to Harrenhal, and Arya Stark had gotten him out. Then had come the Brotherhood, and it was with the Brotherhood that he'd tried to make his stand.

It had been the worst mistake of his life. A dull ache began to form in his chest, and try as he might, he couldn't tamp it down, fight it off.

_I can be your family. _

Stop. Stop now, before it's too late. Don't think about what you should have done. Don't wish to change things. Wishing won't make it so.

_You wouldn't be my family. You'd be m'lady. _

The oars dipped into the water, propelling him forward.

Stupid, stupid. She was right about you. You're stupider than all the rest. No one in their right mind could have left her alone. She didn't have anyone, and you left her. Stupid.

Not only had his 'stand' cost him Arya, but it had cost him the Brotherhood. The Brotherhood, whom he'd so admired, so wanted to be a part of. And they'd sold him to Melisandre without a second thought. But that wasn't what stung the most. What stung was losing Arya, who had been Arry. Arya, who had dragged him along, kept him alive, stayed with him. She'd been so hurt when he'd decided to leave her, but she'd still stood up for him when Melisandre had come to take him away. Would have fought to keep him if it would have made a lick of difference.

_What are you doing? Let go of him! Tell them to stop. _

Gendry shook his head again. "Stop it, you mad bastard, before you throw yourself out of this boat." He pushed the ache back down and locked it away, deep in his chest.

Don't let it out again. It's like to kill you eventually, you damned fool.

The oars dipped into the water, propelling him forward.

* * *

Review please! Please please please! =)


	2. Chapter 2

Here's chapter 2 - please let me know what you think - I really appreciate it!

* * *

And though the sand may be washed by the sea  
And the old will be lost in the new  
Well four will not wait for three  
For three never waited for two  
And though you will not wait for me  
I'll wait for you

- Passenger

* * *

He lifted his hammer and brought it down on the blade; sparks flew from the red-hot metal as it bent and formed to his will. Gendry pounded the steel ferociously, beating it into submission, shaping it into something that would do some real damage. He would have a sword, learn to wield it properly, fight. A sword of his own. He spent most all of his time in the forge these days. It was quiet out here, quieter than inside the inn, the only sounds the ringing of hammer on steel and the bellowing of the forge, as opposed to the noises of children and Willow's sharp voice and the crack of her spoon on little heads and arses. Out here, he could let his mind wander, and if it wandered far enough, he would see _her_ sitting just there, to the side, watching him work.

_You should stand sideface. _

"Go away." He stuck the half-formed sword into the bucket of water at his feet. It hissed and sizzled, steam rising from the blade. He held it up in front of him, standing as she'd told him so long ago. _Sideways. Smaller target._

He swung the sword through the air, slicing a large 'X' through the heavy, hot air of the forge. _You're practicing for a fight. You should practice right. _"Shut up, you." He tossed the blade back into the fire and stared at it, watching the steel grow red hot in the coals.

And don't you go talking to ghosts, you mad bastard.

_I've never had a family._

No. Don't. You'll drive yourself mad. You can't change it. You'll go mad.

The all-too-familiar ache began to swell in his chest. Anger was the only thing that served to dampen it anymore; he retreated into it, used cold fury to block out the ache. He lifted his hammer and brought it down on the blade - too hard.

Check yourself, you damned fool. You'll ruin the blade and have to start over.

_I can be your family. _

She didn't have any family left, either. Her entire family was gone. Her father, beheaded on the steps of the Sept of Baelor, her younger brothers Brandon and Rickon dead, killed by the Greyjoy traitor, whose men had also burned her childhood home to the ground. Her sister Sansa spirited away after King Joffrey's death, accused of murder and not like to reappear anytime soon. Her mother and older brother slain by the traitor Walder Frey at the Twins.

The Twins, where she'd been headed, probably. The Hound would have wanted to ransom her, planned to take her to her brother and collect his price. Had they made it? Some said they had, just in time for the Red Wedding, that Arya Stark's corpse had probably floated down the Trident long ago, or rotted in the sun, with crows eating her flesh.

That didn't sound like Arya, though. It couldn't. Arya dead - it didn't bear thinking about. If Arya was gone, then he truly had no one.

He lifted his hammer and brought it down on the blade. She'd wanted him to stay, asked him to stay. Maybe even needed him. Asked him to be her family. The only family she would have had. She hadn't had anyone else. And what had he said?

_You wouldn't be my family. You'd be m'lady. _

No. Don't think about that. Think about something else.

Other word had come that she was to marry the bastard of the Dreadfort - but that almost seemed more unlikely than her lying dead somewhere. Arya would never let herself be traded off to some bastard, especially not one with his reputation. She would never let anyone unworthy have her - or Winterfell. He ought to remember that.

Rumors of her abounded; the most common one was that she'd died in King's Landing, that she'd never escaped. Well, he knew that to be false, so it stood to reason that the rest were, as well.

He lifted his hammer and brought it down on the blade.

She had to turn up eventually; she was a highborn lady, and a strong one at that. She might be a wolf, but she had a cat's knack for landing on her feet. And when she did turn up, he'd go to her. She'd offered to be his family, wanted to be his family. Maybe that couldn't ever happen, but he'd never had a right to be her family anyways; it would be alright if he could just be near her again, follow her, defend her if she needed it. He would call her m'lady for the rest of his days, if he had to. He'd been stupid to leave her; she was as close to family as he'd ever had. She would never have sold him, not for anything. She'd chosen him, gods knew why, to be her friend, protected him and helped him and let him protect and help her, and he'd left her.

He wouldn't make that mistake again. He'd made up his mind - or rather, that damned ache in his chest had made his mind up for him. The second she turned up again, as she had to, he would find her.

Until that happened, though, he'd wait. Wait for news, for a whisper of her name from the right channel. Anything that would lead him back to her. Gods knew how she would receive him, or _if _she would. She had every right to be angry with him; to hate him, but he had to try. Even if she didn't want him at first, he'd wait until she did. He'd follow her, as he had before, wait for her, wait forever if he had to.

Because she was herself. And he was himself. He would forever be grateful to have had her; he would never give up trying to get her back.

That would be his lot in life, and that would be enough for him.

* * *

In case you're wondering, the song is "Patient Love" by Passenger, and it's wonderful. Check it out, definitely. For sure. Passenger is the best.


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